Normally after Yin Yoga class I go right into African drumming: the ultimate yang energy. In the half-hour break between, I walk as if floating, yet grounded and centered. This week there was no dance class so I didn't play again until the next evening, playing sticks on conga for Haitian class, then bell for the Afro-Cuban jam afterwards. It happened to be the same part I was asked to play for both sessions:
x - x x x - x x
In both cases the groove went on for a good 20 minutes, so my forearms got a chance to burn; I had time to realize and relax the tension in my legs and stance; I brought breath to bear to refresh my energy and channel the tension through; I felt the pressure and invitation to ride on that continuous groove with the other players, and especially with the dancers in the Haitian class, where the feedback of the energy is mirrored in their moves and smiles and vocalizations. Through it all, though it has the yang effect of spiraling energy outward in waves of lively pulsation, the energy comes through and circulates back to the core, that black hole of inspiration and consistency, where subtle variations are magnified and further honed into resonance with the whole.
Holding the part, the breath continues. Finding the tension in the holding, in the fineness of repetition, in the bridge of momentum through the string of moments blurring like railroad ties under the locomotive.
Bringing attention to those variations and to the organic texture, the living fabric of time and space as it weaves forward; to the incremental and microscopic unfolding of the moving matrix; to the muscles of oxygen and angles of bone and suppleness of skin.
Finding intention in the path of unity here achieved. The achievement in the letting go, the deepening. Not so much the form one finds oneself in, but the spirit of forming and reforming at every moment, climbing back to the center with every breath, every note.
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